


Khazad-dûmu (Lord of Moria)

by Bofur1



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet, Deathfic, Gen, Kheled-zâram, no happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-05
Updated: 2013-08-05
Packaged: 2017-12-22 11:29:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/912677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofur1/pseuds/Bofur1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>He stands motionless, like a ghostly soldier—one of ten who are haunted by a failure worth three precious lives.<em></em></em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Khazad-dûmu (Lord of Moria)

A lone form is making his way down from the eastern gate of Moria. The winter night is dark, but the moon shines clear, causing the figure’s scarlet hood to shimmer. As the still and sacred waters of the Mirrormere come into view, the Dwarf stops abruptly. He stands motionless, like a ghostly soldier. In a way, that’s what he truly is—one of ten who are haunted by a failure worth three precious lives.

The figure watches the waters, his eyes searching for movement—a splash or a ripple. There is nothing. It seems almost as though the water is a solid surface, simply a reflecting patch of earth. There is a certain smell about it, something metallic and bittersweet that rests in the air about this place.

Balin sucks in a breath against sudden heartache. He wouldn’t be here if his King and Princes had lived. After a moment he’s able to blink away the tears, and his feet will move again. Slowly he walks forward to the pool and kneels to the ground. His old frame is trembling, but Balin ignores the arthritis and shakes off his hood. The pearl-white ends of his beard very nearly brushing the water, Balin leans forward, slowly, and awe fills his heart as he realizes the weight of this moment.

He can see the crown of seven stars that Durin I had seen so many ages ago, and he’s taken aback by the beauty of it. He has seen many stars many times, but these seven are brilliantly clear and beautiful in the water. The tears quickly resurface, pooling in the deep wrinkles beneath Balin’s eyes. For Thorin they would have forged a crown so bright and magnificent that Durin I would have smiled in the Halls of Waiting.

Balin hastily rises. He dare not let his tears fall and soil the water with his grief. Balin hears faint voices approaching, likely Ori and Óin. It is time to return to his people. Balin tries to swallow the sorrow as he walks slowly away. And yet, he cannot resist one last turn to look over his shoulder at the Kheled-zâram. As he does so, he hears a sound behind him, and then the twang of a bow echoes into the air.

Balin feels the arrow strike, but he doesn’t cry out, and his descent to the ground is just as silent. As the swift-spread poison branches through his veins, Balin hears Ori shout in alarm, and then Óin’s axe rings from its sheath. He can feel the thud through the ground as the Orc assassin’s body falls headless, and then he sees a fuzzily distorted version of Óin shouting desperately in his face.

“Not so loud, please,” Balin whispers. “I hear you just fine, Óin...”

It’s the last time he ever speaks in his fleshly body.


End file.
